


For Love (I Come Your Friend)

by twuke



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-08 08:09:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7749967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twuke/pseuds/twuke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kuroo was seventeen now, man enough to know that there was no shame in crying, but it was on nights such as this one that Kenma was reminded of how much he still resembled the child he once knew, the one covered in the rain and humiliation; trembling with his eyes squeezed shut, as if he was terrified.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Love (I Come Your Friend)

**Author's Note:**

> a writer's block drabble to the tune of biggie's sky's the limit instrumental.

That night, it was the smell of Kuroo’s scent that overcame Kenma as he startled from unconciousness. Curled up in bed and still hazy with sleep, he awoke to the musk of his best friend filling his senses.

“Kuro?” He spoke softly, opening one eye through the lingering haze of sleep to assess the situation he knew was at hand. 

Kuroo lay curled up on his side next to him, one arm sprawled out across the space between them, his thumb and index finger twisted into the hem of Kenma’s shirt.  
He was still wearing his sweatpants; their royal red colour turned nearly black in the dead of night. 

“Kuro,” Kenma said again, his voice still lathered with sleep as he spoke in a soft drawl. “You can’t sleep in your gym clothes.” 

Getting no response, Kenma hummed in annoyance and pushed himself up on his elbow, letting his hair fall infront of his eyes when he let his sleep-heavy head loll to the side. But even through the sheet of his honeyed strands did he see the quiet tremors that surged through Kuroo’s broader form. 

They were not night terrors, Kenma knew that much. He couldn't see Kuroo’s face in the dark, but now that the soft grasp sleep had on him was dissassipating, Kenma registered the whispery sobs that emitted throughout the room and realized that Kuroo was the sole cause of them. 

Sighing, he scooted over, closer to Kuroo, nearly climbing on top of him as he positioned himself above him, trapping him between his forearms when he placed both palms on the sheets next to either side of his head.

“Kuro,” he said again, searching for the sliver of gold he knew was hiding behind the messy sheet of black hair. “It’s okay. You don’t have to be quiet.”

Those were the magic words, the okay he knew Kuroo needed to hear before he could really let it out. Kenma wasn't one to be subtle. Even if he wanted to be, it just didn't occur to him, he'd rather have Kuroo get it all out at once.

Nothing about their relationship could be described as delicate. They had known eachother for too long, had had this happen too many times before already.

This, the sneaking into Kenma’s room in the dead of night, was a normal occurrence, a thing that had been going on since they were kids.

It had started under the pretense of childish reckless abandon, which had seemed innocent enough to Kenma at the time, but it soon evolved into something more contrary, something which had caused him to, at the age of nine, keep his bedroom window unlocked during all twenty-four hours of the day. 

Kuroo’s home situation wasn’t pretty from what Kenma had gathered. In the years they'd known eachother, been close to one another, Kuroo had never revealed any details as to why it was that he felt the need to escape the very place that he was supposed to call home, opting instead to literally crash at Kenma’s. 

It didn’t take a genius to know why though. Loan sharks and small time crooks who had been paid came by all of the time, yelling obscenities or outright threats through the windows and into the Kuroo household. 

Financial difficulties could put a strain on any marriage, especially on one which had already started to crack. 

And the strain on a marriage would almost certainly take it’s toll on any child caught in the middle. 

Kuroo had been trapped in the midst of his parents arguing for as long as Kenma had known him. He even figured that was how the bedhead had come about; product of his years spent in an abusive household, not to hear more than he had to. 

As a way to drown his parent’s foul words and angry voices out, he had covered his ears with the closest thing available, pressing two pillows against both sides of his head. 

Now he couldn’t sleep without something covering his ears, distracting him from the outside world. At seventeen he hadn't outgrown his fear of muted, yet hostile voices growing louder and more vicious as the night progressed. Kenma knew things like that never really went away. 

He himself had not been able to sleep without a nightlight until he were at the age of ten, and he probably still couldn’t if he were honest. The nightlight had just been replaced with the soft glow from his phonescreen. 

He had never gotten over his fear of the dark, just like Kuroo would never get over his. The things that had terrorrised them as children would be forever lodged in them, but their methods to cope would eventually evolve. 

They had already been through a steady stream of metamorphosis.

When Kuroo lay trembling from the built-up pressure of feeling like a burden to his parents, on the verge of overflowing, Kenma would touch him, trap him between his forearms and either cup his hands around Kuroo’s ears, or thread his fingers through his hair, stroking his temple with the pad of his thumb as he watched the flutter of Kuroo’s eyelids when the tears started to deluge between his lashes. 

He had done this since they were kids. Even before, when Kuroo refused to let the tears fall. 

Kenma still remembered the first time Kuroo had cried infront of him.  
He had just turned twelve, and they were caught in the anvil between his own birthday and Kuroo’s. 

It was raining that night.  The quiet thrumming against Kenma’s windows had only been interrupted when Kuroo slid one of them open, throwing one leg over the sill just as a flash of lightning illuminated the outline of his person. 

He hadn't even made it to Kenma’s bed before he sank to his knees, the clasp of thunder that followed after the light triggering something in him.  
Kenma had crawled out of bed, bringing the duvet with him, and had sunk down beside Kuroo on the floor, pulling the duvet over the both of them to shield them from the stray drops of rain. 

“I’m so tired,” Kuroo had told him, his voice barely audiable over the bellow of the storm. 

“Your birthday is next month,” Kenma had said in an attempt to console him. “Eighteen and out, remember?”

Kuroo's hands had been cold when he had taken them in his, nearly soaked to the bone, as if he'd been outside for more than the minute it took for him to walk to Kenma's. 

He had seen the tears then, the bold droplets trickling down Kuroo’s already damp face, the rawness of his sad expression like that of a person teetering on the edge of desolation. 

“Eighteen and out,” Kuroo had repeated, locking eyes with Kenma when he said, “But I’m only turning thirteen.”

 

Kuroo was seventeen now, man enough to know that there was no shame in crying, but it was on nights such as this one that Kenma was reminded of how much he still resembled the child he once knew, the one covered in the rain and humiliation; trembling with his eyes squeezed shut, as if he was terrified.

“Five months,” he whispered to himself, holding on to the mantra Kenma had thrown at him so many years ago, still counting down to the day that he would legally be able to get out. 

“Five months,” Kenma echoed above him, sitting back on his knees, his fingers still running through Kuroo's hair as he waited for his breathing to even out. 

This was why he came to him. Kuroo knew that he couldn't let the panic settle, he needed Kenma to avoid doing that, came crashing into him when he lost sight of his possibilities. 

“Sorry,” he said quietly, like Kenma knew he would. "I'm really sorry."

"It's fine," Kenma told him, like he always did after such an ordeal, splaying his hand on Kuroo's chest to stop it from heaving. "You just need to sleep."

Kuroo nodded at the suggestion, but he didn't move, lay motionless instead as he tried to hold his breath to get it under control.

Kenma sighed sleepily. He reached out for the duvet to cover them with before he scooted down, laying his head on Kuroo's shoulder. "It's okay," he told him, his quiet voice clear as a bell in the dead of night.

Kuroo held on to him then, twisted his hands almost desperately into Kenma's shirt.

"I'm so tired," he whispered, resting his head against Kenma's. He wasn't crying anymore, but his words were still enveloped in the quiet bloom of woe. 

"Sleep," Kenma told him, closing his eyes.

Giddy with sleep but not yet touched by it’s forgiving caress, Kuroo was overcome with the purest form of emotion, the tenderness of it washing his features blue with the dusty hue of melancholy. 

“Stay with me, promise?” he asked. "Don't leave."

Reaching out beneath the duvet Kenma took his hand in his, stroking the palm of it with his thumb in a way he hoped was reassuring.

“I won't leave," he said softly, indulging him in his need of reassurance.

Kuroo relaxed into the press of his body. He fell asleep like that, with his hand curled around Kenma's, the flutter of his pulse returning to it’s normal rhythm when Kenma softly stroked his hair.

"I love you, Tetsurou," he whispered, the use of his first name a subtle display of affection, the kind of affirmation Kenma knew he needed to hear, even in the subliminal land of restless sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> i might rewrite this once i'm no longer a lazy sack of shit. 
> 
> anyway, please leave a comment or kudos if you enjoyed it, or come and say hi to me at vrgh on tumblr!


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